Vianna Davila: Memories of Sgt. Saenz

To Hurtado, his sergeant was a can-do man, a family man, who would do anything to protect the men under his command and for the U.S. Marine Corps he loved. And like Saenz, Hurtado had joined the military looking for direction and opportunities.

But in the end, the difference between their fates was a mere five feet.

Hurtado, 22, was standing behind Saenz when the latter stepped on an improvised explosive device last week while their squad was on routine patrol in Afghanistan’s Helmand Province.

Hurtado lost the vision in his left eye, suffered some damage to the right and was left with burns on his face and shrapnel wounds on one hand.

Saenz lost his life. He was 30 years old.

His family buried him Monday in Pleasanton, where he graduated from high school in 1999 and where his sisters said he hoped to one day return.

Hurtado learned that Saenz had died sometime after he woke up in an Air Force hospital in Afghanistan.

“It was shocking,” Hurtado said.

The men had originally met at the Twentynine Palms Marine Corps Base in California. They had little contact; Saenz was a mechanics expert, and Hurtado was in communications.

Though Saenz was eight years Hurtado’s senior, both men had joined the military around the same age: Saenz was 22, and Hurtado was 20.

Saenz had worked as a mechanic back home in Texas. Hurtado had a job unloading pallets from trucks at a medical supply factory in his native Anaheim, Calif.

Saenz joined the military to fulfill a longtime dream. Hurtado was laid off from his factory job. Hoping to escape what he considered a negative environment in Anaheim, Hurtado signed up for the Marines.

“I would always get told they (the Marines) were better and it was harder, so I wanted to challenge myself,” said Hurtado.

By the time Hurtado had joined, Saenz had already re-enlisted for another four years. He was married and the father of a son who bears his name, Jose IV.

Hurtado got to learn more about Saenz’s family after they deployed to Afghanistan in May as part of the 11th Marine Battalion. The corporal remembered sitting in Saenz’s quarters for squad meetings. Pictures drawn by his son lined the walls.

Though he couldn’t wait to go home, Saenz was a motivated leader, always happy, always eager to get a job done swiftly.

“He just loved the Marine Corps,” Hurtado said. “Some people talk down on it; some people just don’t like it sometimes, but he was a guy that never talked bad on it, never complained pretty much.”

In Afghanistan, the divide between sergeant and corporal melted. The entire squad was experiencing the same culture shock. Saenz effectively held them together.

“He’d always talk to us, make sure if we need anything, make sure all our gear was good,” Hurtado said. “He made sure that we were always taken care of.”

And it was Saenz who led the way in the early hours Aug. 9, as the men embarked on their first night patrol in Afghanistan.

Typically, they went on patrols to find enemies who might be planting IEDs, Hurtado said.

They pushed out around 2:30 or 3 in the morning. The men were trying to cross a creek over into an area they called the “green zone” because of its abundant tree line and farmland.

By around 4 a.m., the group had come to a creek but couldn’t find an easy way to cross in the darkness. Saenz told the squad he’d go ahead and figure out a way to the other side.

Hurtado wanted to help him look for a good crossing spot, but his goggles were foggy and wet from sweat. So he stopped to take them off.

He was cleaning the goggles when he heard the blast.

Then all he could see was a white flash.

It was the last thing he would see for some time. He could feel the shrapnel strike his face, and his eyes swelled shut. He could feel blood pouring from his eyes, nose and mouth.

He raised his hand for help. “I’m hit, I’m hit,” he said.

He was surrounded by other Marines, which checked his arms and legs. They asked him if he felt tired. He said yes, and they told him not to fall asleep.

A few feet away lay Saenz. Hurtado could no longer see him, but he could hear him screaming, “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe.”

More help surrounded the sergeant. They tried to reassure Saenz he would be OK, that the “bird,” or helicopter, was on the way. Just 10 more minutes, his squad told him. It’s on its way, it’s coming.

Hurtado could hear a doctor administer Saenz morphine. The dose seemed to calm him, but Hurtado could still hear him mumble in a low voice, “I can’t breathe.”

Then the chopper arrived and airlifted Saenz. It returned shortly afterward to transport Hurtado, who immediately blacked out.

Saenz died at 5:18 a.m., less than an hour and a half after the explosion.

Hurtado woke up in the hospital with a tube down his throat. Once doctors took it out, he immediately asked hospital staff if someone else was brought in with him.

“I was trying to figure out what happened to Sgt. Saenz,” he said.

Later, a lieutenant broke the news to Hurtado about Saenz’s death. He told him that shrapnel damaged one of the sergeant’s arteries, causing him to bleed severely and go into shock.

“I was standing five feet away from him when this happened,” Hurtado said. “It was hard to believe that he was gone.”

He has spoken to Saenz’s parents once on the phone. They cried during most of the call and told Hurtado they were sorry he’d been wounded because their son had stepped on the IED. Hurtado said it could have easily been him.

“They were telling me that he was a good guy, a good son,” Hurtado said. “I was agreeing with them.”

They never asked about what happened in the field.

Hurtado was later transported to an Air Force Base in Germany for treatment. He’s been in a Washington, D.C., hospital since Friday, where his family came to meet him.

In a few days he’ll likely go to San Diego, where surgeons will remove his left eye. He can now see out of his right eye, which continues to improve.

He doesn’t know about his future with the Marine Corps. No one has mentioned anything about his options yet.